Rating: This chapter is rated M here and MA through my website which you can access through my profile. Do come join!

Disclaimer: These characters are not mine. No infringement intended.

Author's Note: I've had to tone this down a lot here so if you want the unedited version, come to the website. Thanks to everyone who reviewed the first chapter, too. I'm glad you all enjoyed it. In answer to a couple of queries I had, the Cirque is unfortunately a figment of my imagination.

She didn't speak so neither did he, as the door was unlocked and lights were switched on. Her home was a museum of ancient artefacts, some genuine and others very expensive replicas; vases, swords, daggers, plates, spears, shields – if it existed in some bygone era, Temperance Brennan probably had some version of it here in her apartment. Booth expected that her home insurance was probably through the roof, to ensure the protection of her belongings.

Brennan tossed her coat aside, a silver ring of keys jingling as they landed nosily on the hallway table. Her heels, seductively high, clicked as she made her way across the apartment to give the lighting a fitting mood by flicking two small muted lamp on. He stood rigidly still, watching her prowl – he figured prowl described the motion well – back towards him. What on Earth had gotten into her? he wondered, the overhead light extinguishing when her slender fingers touched upon the switch again.

Her lipstick had faded throughout the night and after heated kisses in his car, but the pigment left her mouth temptingly plump and inviting. His penis throbbed painfully as she slipped her hand behind his neck and drew his head downward for a slow but determined kiss. Booth's perplexity was obviously rendering him quite unable to focus, for as her cool fingertips stroked over the hard, angled planes of his chest, downward to his belt-buckle, her wrist brushing not accidently over his crotch, he didn't move. Stunned by the sudden shift in their relationship, and how the Cirque d'Eroticism had obviously transformed her into a sultry vixen, he let her take control.

And control was something he very rarely relinquished.

Temperance removed her shoes, dumping them aside with a thud before sinking to her knees before him. Her hands moved quickly to unbuckle his jeans.

His penis sprang free, rigid and throbbing. Her palm was silken as she wrapped her fingers around him and stroked upwards. Booth, unable to control the jerk that pulsed through him, thrust his hips forward into the welcoming cone of her hand. A thousand erotic images flashed by in his mind – agile bodies, sex positions, orgasms, oral sex, orgies – if it fell into the category of 'sex' it whirred in his mind's eye faster than he could comprehend, only instead of super-lithe dancers in brightly coloured, skin tight costumes, his imagery featured Temperance Brennan always naked. He groaned, loudly this time.

Brennan kept her eyes on him as she parted her full, shiny lips and swept her tongue over the tip of his penis.

He thought he might choke, sinking his fingers into her tousled locks, urging her closer. She complied, driven by the noises of appreciation that rumbled from his chest. Her lids fluttered shut, her lashes brushing against her sculpted cheekbones as she focused, clearly intent on pleasuring him to the fullest of her very capable abilities.

"Bones," he sighed, his fingers tight inside her hair as he pulled her head away. "This could end far quicker than you anticipated, if you don't stop." With a final, almost defiant flick of her tongue over the tip of him – to lick away a pearly droplet, she got to her feet.

"Well, we definitely don't want to rush." With a come-hither look, she turned and moved towards her bedroom. He felt vulnerable – exposed – standing there in her hallway with his jeans around his knees and his raging erection, still shimmering from where her mouth had been, out. "Are you coming?" she called from the bedroom, a rectangle of light spilling out – like the entrance to Heaven. He kicked off his shoes, slid out of his jeans – deciding that nude from the waist down was more dignified than hobbling towards her.

In her bedroom, Temperance had shed her sweater and stood at the bottom of her bed clad only in an equally red, silk and lace bra. She was reaching behind, fumbling for the clasp to unhook it when he scowled. "Hey... no fair..." She dropped her arms, eyeing him curiously. "You can't go undressing me, and then undress yourself too. That's my privilege." She smiled, her expression almost coy. Her eyes lowered, the appearance of demureness used as an excellent opportunity to drink in the beauty of his still rigid arousal.

Booth reached out and took her breast in his hand, testing its full, supple weight beneath the expensive bra she wore. Her nipple tightened against the material, straining to be touched by his fingertips. He pinched lightly and she dispelled a hot sigh. Her back arched as her head fell back, exposing the long, slender column of her throat. Booth slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her against him, their bodies flush. Lowering his head, his tongue lapped at the smooth skin, tasting musky perspiration and the fading scent of her perfume.

Reaching behind he unhooked her bra, easing the straps over her shoulders and down her arms. Once freed, her breasts were divine – full and round, peaked with hard, coral coloured nipples that were puckered, delicious morsels just calling out for his mouth. Taking one breast in his hand, Booth ran the flat of his tongue over her, delighting in how her fingernails dug almost painfully into his scalp before her fists clenched around his hair. Softly, he sucked, rolling the turgid nipple with his tongue whilst she mewed and purred, whimpering in ecstasy. Nibbling, he quickly unbuttoned her jeans and slid them – along with her matching red panties, over her thighs.

"Get unto the bed," he commanded in a tone that told her there would be no disobedience. He was beyond return, now – had gone too far. If he wasn't inside her soon, acting out the scenes they'd seen at the Cirque, he'd die.

Brennan climbed unto the mattress, watching as he knelt between her thighs. She was ready, aroused and yearning to be filled by him. Parting her legs wider, positioned himself at her opening and slid inside. Together they released a moan, her digging her nails into his back while he squeezed his eyes shut. The feeling of being enveloped by her was a sensory overload. At first he moved slowly, revelling in every inch of her silky wetness – before long he was thrusting into her with abandon, their bodies slapping together. She hooked her legs behind him, opening herself to him and he shuddered, entirely engulfed by her soft walls.

Her body tightened, quivering around him, gripping him in liquid spasms as she came, calling out his name. Her pleasure excited him beyond return and Booth followed, thrusting into her twice more. With laboured breaths, he collapsed on top of her. "Sorry..." he mumbled, only half apologising. Brennan wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and with his ear against her chest he could hear the rapid thudding of her heartbeat.

"Hey Booth?" she said after a long moment had elapsed.

"Umph?" he barely managed to grunt, clearly unaccustomed to the intensity of his orgasm. He'd spent far too many nights seeing to his own pleasure – having a woman, and not just any woman, but Temperance Brennan was unlike anything he could have imagined.

"Remind me I have something to tell you in the morning."

His last waking thought, before he went to sleep, was that he was certain there was something quite wicked and mischievous in her own.

I knew something was amiss, he thought as sleep engulfed him.

-end-

Okay, there will be one VERY short chapter to finish this. Probably up tomorrow.

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